


The Best Route

by Bard



Category: Genshiken
Genre: Crossdressing, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bard/pseuds/Bard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon reflection, Madarame was glad he'd left the eroge sitting out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Route

For some reason, Madarame’s first reaction was a simple thought:

_That’s…big._

Hato hadn’t noticed, too intent on the images on-screen. Madarame glanced at the scene (“tomboy” boy-waitress Miyuki-chan, his uniform half-off, bent over a barstool and, for lack of better word, presenting). Hato drummed her fingers on the base of the keyboard, evidently trying to decide which action to take next.

…

When Madarame came home that evening, his plans included catching the new episode of _Princess’s Sword_ , enjoying a beer, reading some doujinshi, and “testing” his new onahole after reading some doujinshi. They didn’t include finding Hato, fully dressed in a blouse and skirt, sitting at his desk. Nor had he expected to see Hato using his computer, barely cognizant of the world around her. And he certainly hadn’t expected to see _Otokono Ueitoresu Kurabu e Yokosou!_ —the latest trap game from Kousaka’s studio—flickering on screen.

“Hato-kun?”

Hato spun in the chair, wide-eyed. “Madarame-sempai! Uh, I was just, well—“ She rose, red-faced, and smoothed out her skirt. “I came to change so I could meet Yoshitake-sempai and Sue in Akiba, and the train got delayed and, well, the game was sitting there. I just wanted to try it.”

“Ah. I must have left it out. It’s from Kousaka’s studio. Another trap game.” He fished a can of Kirin out of his bag, held it out with a grin. “You could’ve just borrowed it, you know. Want a drink?”

She hesitated, then nodded, taking the drink but not opening it. Madarame opened his, moving past her and leaning on the desk.

“The Miyuki route, huh?” He peered at the screen, chuckling faintly. “Kousaka recommended that one.” It was the hardest route, actually. The game combined traditional dialogue trees with a complicated drink order/money system. You had to woo your waitress through charming dialogue while sharing cocktail orders while _also_ managing finances earned through offscreen quests. Of all the boys, the tsundere Katsuragi Miyuki had the most explicit scenes by far (the FAQs classified him a “mesu-shota”), but the player had to _work_ for them, carefully stepping through endless dialogue and ordering _just_ the right cocktails (strong enough to get the player tipsy, not enough to get him drunk). It had taken Madarame four hours. 

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Hato couldn’t help herself, voice rising with enthusiasm. “There’s so much emphasis on the personality. She’s almost topping the player. It’s like playing BL!”

“Really.” He dropped back to sit the bed and gestured towards the screen with his beer. Miyuki-chan glared out of it, arms folded. “So you must know what to do next, then?”

“Eh?” She blinked down at the screen. “Well, uh…”

A digital _it’s not like I’d like an idiot like you!_ came through the speakers. The scene shifted to Miyuki-chan striding away.

Madarame tsk’ed. “She spilled your drink.”

Eyes narrowing, Hato plunked down in the chair and cracked open her beer. Clearly, this would take a while.

…

Madarame stole another look at her tented plaid skirt. Whatever panties Hato wore, they weren’t tight enough to restrain her—him, in this case?—entirely, because the rigid bulge was tall enough to draw the skirt up Hato’s thighs. He glanced up again. Her heavily lidded eyes were still locked on Miyuki-chan’s barroom antics ( _“R-really? You pervert, making me show off right here in the club”_ ), so he let himself keep staring downward. 

_Really big_. It was something out of an ero-game or one of the newer Saigado books: made-up face, smooth thighs, cute little skirt…

Cute little skirt which just barely contained a jarringly big cock. The bulge belonged in the game Hato was playing, not swaying slightly in his lap. It seemed unreal.

Of course, Madarame could always lift the skirt to make sure.

_Wait, what?_

His face flushed red and he took an involuntary look at his beer. Had he bought the strong stuff by mistake? No, just Kirin, and he hadn’t even finished his third can. No excuse. He took a deep gulp and kept his eyes on Hato’s lap, which turned out to be a mistake, because Hato’s eyes were on him.

“Madarame-sempai?”

“Uh.” 

Hato turned away from the screen. She looked concerned, but a little woozy; she had that expression she always sported while nose-deep in BL, the one Yoshitake called the “doujinshi daze.” 

“You look red, sempai. Have you had too much to drink?”  
“N-no, this is just my third.” Madarame fought to keep his eyes where they should be, but swiveling in the chair only emphasized the sheer size of the bulge in Hato’s lap—it tugged for a moment at her skirt. “But, uh, Hato-kun, you, uh…” Inexorably, his attention traveled downward. In an ero game, wouldn’t this be the part of the scenario where the trap gasped, blushed, and cutely lifted her skirt?

Hato’s eyes followed his. Then widened. Then, aghast, she scrambled out of her chair and knocked it backwards, starting towards the kitchen. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” 

Okay, Madarame thought, maybe this wasn’t _completely_ out of an eroge. Usually, the trap didn’t turn tail and run, not unless they were going to trip and show off—

One of the casters caught Hato’s foot, and she let out a squeal, tumbling backwards in a swirl of skirt and long hair. Too late, Madarame rose to attempt a rescue; he only managed to snare one carefully manicured hand, which only served to drag him down with her. Though the ubiquitous stacks of doujinshi softened the impact, they still wound up sprawled across the narrow corridor between the bed and the desk.

Well, to put it more accurately, Hato was sprawled across the floor. Madarame was sprawled across Hato. They stared at each other for a moment, their foreheads almost touching. 

“Okay,” Madarame said. He was very conscious of Hato’s erection, hard and warm and pressed against his thigh. He could feel it shift in those panties as she shifted under him. “Th-this is, uh...” He rose up to his knees and pushed up his glasses. Hato stared up at him, slightly dazed. “This is pretty much an eroge scenario, right?”

“…sempai?” 

“BL or plain ero, either way, this is straight out of a porn game.” He pointed down at Hato, grinning. “You even said ‘kyaa~” when you fell!”

Hato laughed despite herself. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” She reached up to check her wig, pulled it down over some errant hair. “If this were a BL doujinshi, you would still be on top of me, sempai.”

“And if it were a trap game I’d have my hand in your panties,” Madarame replied, laughing.

“And if it was a BL doujinshi I’d let you,” Hato said.

There was a long silence. Madarame could still feel that bulge, barely diminished against his thigh. Hato noticed him noticing and flung an arm over her face. “I’m sorry, sempai. It’s not going away.”

What the hell. Madarame leaned forward, pushing up Hato’s arm.

The kisses started out awkward. Madarame was doing his best, as far as Hato could tell, but neither of them was working off much experience. Still, after about ten near-misses, lip bumps, and half-kisses, one of them tilted their head _just so_ and suddenly Hato was moaning and both of them knew they’d gotten it right. She dug her fingers into the back of Madarame’s head, holding him in one long, deep kiss—until Madarame tried to stroke her hair. She turned her head away, licking her lips, tasting Madarame tinged with beer.

“Sempai, “ she panted, shaking her head, “my wig…”

“Ah.” He paused, embarrassed. “Sorry, Hato-kun, I’m not really sure what I’m doi—“ and then he broke into a gasp, because Hato’s lips had found their way to his jawline, and Hato’s hands were traveling down his back. 

_Any minute now,_ Madarame kept thinking. _Any minute now I’m going to realize what I’m doing and put a stop to it._ He thought it as he opened her blouse, dragging his fingers along her chest. He thought it as he drew his hand back out of her blouse—eliciting a disappointed moan—and undid his belt. He thought it as she undid the top two buttons on his shirt, too, but then she started kissing along his collarbone and it was all he could do to think at all.

“Where’d—” Madarame had to ask. It took a moment, because every kiss briefly made him lose his mind. “Where’d you learn how to do that?” 

“There’s this Kujian doujinshi.” She mumbled through the kisses. “Where, where Mugio and Chihiro neck for five straight pages, and Chihiro really seemed to like _ah!_ ” 

Madarame’s hands were on her ass. Squeezing, kneading, above all _pulling_ her against him. Against his thigh, against his chest, against…nothing, because Madarame was pulling back. She gave him a bewildered, wide-eyed look, starting to ask what was wrong, but then squeaked in surprise as he got his knees between her thighs and—admittedly a little clumsily—shoved them apart.

She stared as he angled his hips. He wasn’t going to try _that,_ was he? Not right away? “Sempai,” she babbled, “we need to prepare, we need lube, I’ve never done that, _you've_ never done that, _how_ do we do tha…” She trailed off, staring down at the bulge in his boxers, really noticing it for the first time, thinking:

_Wow, that’s…big._

Then he bore down on top of her again and that bulge was pressed against her own.

The heat was incredible. Hato swore she could feel it throbbing, right through her panties, which by now grew dark towards the top, sliding back and forth against the tip of her cock. “Where’d…you learn this, sempai?” 

“Miyuki-chan route, once you get her on the pool table,” Madarame managed. Then he started working his hips; Hato wrapped her legs around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, arching up into him, and neither of them could talk anymore. The only sounds were the shifting of body against body, messier and messier kisses, and increasingly-ragged gasps. 

Soon Madarame was having trouble keeping his head up, and _any minute now_ took on a different meaning. He buried his face in Hato's neck, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and her ass with another, slid his fingers under the waistband of her panties to clutch her bare skin. "Oh," he whispered, voice hoarse. 

Hato's wig was slipping as she worked herself up into him, her voice slipping into male and back out again, but she didn't care. All she cared about, _could_ care about, was the length of heat slipping up and down against her own. A quiet part of her wondered if she was going to stain her panties. Then she wondered if _Madarame_ was going to.

Then she realized she wanted him to.

Madarame felt her come before he heard it. Her slim body jolted underneath him, her heels digging into his lower back, and the low, constant pulse of her cock grew into a powerful, rhythmic throb he could feel as if they weren't wearing underwear at all. _Any minute now, any minute now, any minute--_

"C-" She yelped, voice breaking. " _Come_ on me!"

That did it.

His arms tensed around her, pulling her against him with strength he never knew he had, and he let out a growl quite a lot different from any sound he'd ever made doing this on his own.

They sat like that for a long time.

"Sempai?" Hato murmured against his neck.

"Mmnh?"

"Can I finish the route?"

Madarame gave a weary grin. "In a few minutes."


End file.
